


Remember Me?

by Wordsplat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Amnesia, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 04:09:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordsplat/pseuds/Wordsplat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony proposes to Steve on their one year anniversary, and everything is perfect; until Steve hits his head and rattles one too many screws loose. Now he can't remember anything from after his time under the ice, and it's breaking Tony's heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tony Stark and Steve Rogers had been dating quite seriously for a year, and the week before their anniversary they got into an argument.

Tony was absolutely  _insistent_ that they go to Paris, and Steve was sick and tired of everything in their relationship being overshadowed by Tony's obscene amount of money. Eventually they compromised. They flew commercially and Steve paid, something Tony thought was absolutely ridiculous but kept mum about both for the sake of peace and the fact that if he had to kidnap and forcefully haul Steve's perfect ass to Paris for their anniversary, he would.

Because Tony Stark was a man with a plan, and it was a  _perfect_ plan.

They had a lovely dinner and even managed to go unnoticed by the public, something both men were infinitely grateful for. Afterwards they walked around, perusing shops and the like until they made it to the Eiffel Tower. At the very top, Tony stopped Steve with a hand on his wrist.

"What is it, Tony?"

Tony said nothing for once, instead dropping to one knee and reaching into his pocket.

"Oh.  _Oh."_

Tony cracked the lid of the little black box open to reveal a single, smooth ring welded from a strip of vibranium with a small blue light in the center, glowing brightly.

"I made it," Tony smiled, so proud, so happy, "The ring is from the same material as your shield, and the center is the same material as my arc reactor. It's a little bit of me and a little bit of you and that's kind of what I'm trying to say, that I love you, Steve, you're the very best part of me, and I never want to lose you. So I made a ring that represents that, that represents us, and..."

He pulled out the ring and handed it to Steve. Steve handled the precious ring with care, turning it over in his hands to read the elegant cursive on the inside.

_The best part of me was always you._

"I mean, I know it's not a diamond, but I figure you hate expensive things, and this is more personal, and I really do mean it, I love you so much, Steve, I just-"

"God, Tony,  _yes."_

And then Steve cut off Tony's endless rambling as he often did, with a kiss. The stars were bright above them, the streets of Paris shone below them, they were on the Eiffel Tower and they were in love and getting married and for a single moment, everything in Tony's life was absolutely perfect.

Of course, they were still superheroes, and such moments didn't last long.

Less than four hours later they were on call, suiting up between stolen kisses and getting picked up by the Helicarrier to be brought back to New York at top speed. It was a long flight, but they were tired and slept through most of it. They regrouped with the others on the street when they were literally dropped into the fight.

"Guess I shouldn't have fought you so hard for Paris," Tony joked as he blasted one of their enemy's grunts, "We should have been here after all. You always did know best."

"Tony," Steve shot him a fond smile as he deflected a blow with his shield, "Stop fretting. It could not have been more perfect."

Everyone was beyond used to their banter by now, so they didn't bother to comment, and since Steve's glove hid the slim, smooth ring perfectly and they were in the middle of saving the world at the moment, it didn't seem like the right time to share their news.

Then Steve was taken out.

Not killed, thank God, but slammed in the head with a falling piece of building that knocked the super soldier instantly unconscious. Tony was at his side in a flash, and, since the battle was wrapping up and the others were holding their ground fine, hoisted Steve into his arms and took off for SHIELD medical. Tony hated SHIELD and even hospitals in general, but it was his best bet.

Steve was unconscious for 7 hours. The others came by to check on the Captain after the fight, but they were all clearly exhausted so Tony insisted they head back and get some sleep, knowing full well Steve would want them to. He stayed awake and watchful at Steve's bedside, knowing full well Steve wouldn't want him to. But he regretted nothing, since he was there to see Steve wake up, some point a little before dawn.

"Thank god, you're awake, oh thank god," something loosened in Tony's chest as Steve blinked awake, and he was rambling again, he knew it but he couldn't stop, he was just so relieved, "I don't know what I would have done, but I'll tell you one thing, I have  _no_ pre-wedding jitters, I have never been more sure of anything in my life, Steve, I hope you know that, especially now, seeing you go down, all I could think was 'Oh my god, there goes my entire life' and you were so pale and I just-"

"Howard?" Steve stopped him, blinking away the sleep from his eyes, "What are you talking about? And when did you grow a beard?"

Tony froze.

He waited, waited for Steve to realize his mistake and apologize, look guilty, anything. Nothing happened. He just looked at Tony, waiting for him to explain himself, like  _he_ was the one with explaining to do. He searched Steve's face, looking for the joke, the punchline, anything; it would be mean, cruel even, and completely unlike Steve, but he'd take it any day over the alternative.

Over the truth.

"You...you think I'm Howard?"

"Right. You're not Howard," Steve shook his head then, rubbing his eyes and waking up a little more, "You're right, I'm sorry, I see it now. I'm just...tired."

Before Tony could begin to breathe again, Steve threw him another curveball.

"You just look a lot like him, is all. Are you a relative?"

"Am I…is this a joke?"

"What? No, I just...I'm sorry, do I know you?" Steve glances around, "Do you know how I got here? What happened to me?"

"You...you don't know me?"

"No?"

"Oh," Tony's voice broke along with his heart, "Um. Well. My name's Tony. Tony Stark. I, uh, I am related to Howard, actually, he's-"

"Oh, you must be his older cousin, the doctor. I've heard good things, it's good to meet you," Steve smiled and shook Tony's hand, and Tony couldn't help but feel rattled by much more than Steve's strength. And if that 'older' cousin bit wasn't just an extra little punch to the gut.

"What's, uh, what's the last thing you remember, Steve?"

"Ah...well, I was fighting Nazis, if you'd believe it."

"I do," Tony answered without thinking. Then, his words hit him and he winced. He'd never thought Steve would be the one postponing wedding bells, even inadvertently, "I, uh, believe it, I mean."

"Right. So did I get taken out, then? What happened, is everyone okay?" Steve suddenly seemed to realize that waking up in a hospital didn't usually mean good things.

"Uh, yeah. Everyone's great. You're..." Tony paused, then, softly, "You're a hero."

"I am?" Steve's face brightened, and Tony swallowed hard.

"There's something you need to know."

"What is it?"

"You, uh...well, I guess you hit your head pretty hard. It seems like you've lost a pretty big chunk of your memory, and you didn't lose it fighting Nazis. Though you did that too, just...a long time ago."

Steve's face became serious and he watched Tony silently.

"I'm not Howard's cousin. I'm his son. You...well, this is going to be extremely hard for you to believe, but there's tons of proof and I can show you it later, but the thing is, well, I'm just gonna come out and say it: you piloted a plane full of deadly missiles into the ocean effectively helping end the war, and instead of dying you were frozen and the serum kept you alive but asleep for 70 years and then we found you in the Arctic and unfroze you about a year ago and you joined our team of ragtag superheroes and now we sort of save the world when it's in trouble."

There's a very long, very awkward, very tense silence.

"You were right. That is  _extremely_ hard to believe."

"I swear, there's boatloads of proof. Pictures, news articles, millions of witnesses. We're pretty public when we fight aliens."

" _Aliens?_ "

"Too much information. Sorry, I'm trying to skim the details. And, y'know, I'm only  _freaking the hell out_ over here, so I'm not exactly the best person to be explaining this to you. I should really call the medics-"

" _You're_ freaking out?"

"Well, yeah! You're kind of important to me," Tony reached for the remote that would call a medic to the room.

"I...I am?"

"Steve..." Tony murmured, the innocent confusion in Steve's voice evaporating all of his frustration. He paused, then put the remote back. Maybe if he just talked to Steve a little longer on his own…surely, this couldn't be permanent. Surely he couldn't have forgotten Tony so easily, "Yes. You're very, very important to me."

"Why?"

"Um. Well, I didn't want to just, y'know, spring this on you or anything, but you sort of asked…and I mean, the second they start showing you any even remotely recent pictures it's going to be superbly obvious, so I'm just going to come out with it now and tell you that we've been seeing each other for a year now."

Tony placed his hand over Steve's as he spoke, but Steve just looked from Tony, to where Tony's hand was, then back at Tony before pulling his hand away like it was on fire. As Tony finished, Steve's eyes grew wide, and Tony began to get a very bad, very painful feeling in the pit of his stomach.

" _What?"_ Steve shook his head abruptly, "No. That's…not true. I wouldn't date another man."

"Wow," Tony choked out, because  _wow_ was the only thing he could bring himself to say other than  _holy hell that was actually physically painful,_ "Well, that was certainly not the expected reaction. Didn't really seem to have any issues with it before, so that's sort of new. Um. Yeah. Our one year anniversary was yesterday, and it was...it was really special," Tony's voice became very, very quiet as he gestured to Steve's hand, "If you were wondering about the, um, ring."

"What?"

"You might want to take off your gloves."

"Oh.  _Oh."_

"That's…eerily similar to the reaction I got when I gave it to you."

"What  _is_ this?"

"That, not so much."

"It  _glows,_ " Steve removed the ring and flipped it around in his hands carelessly, oblivious to the fact that seeing Steve take it off and fiddle with it so indifferently was making Tony's heart want to eat itself into a black hole, "Why does it glow, is it a toy?"

"Is it a...are you...no, it is not a fucking toy!" Tony snapped, confused and offended.

"You shouldn't curse like that," Steve reprimanded him seriously.

"You shouldn't rip out my heart and call it a toy!" Tony accused, then, managing to calm himself, "I'm sorry, I just...I put a lot of work into making that ring. It's unique to us, and when I gave it to you...you loved it. You really...you really loved it."

Tony fell silent, the image of Steve's face when he first saw the ring running over and over in his mind. When he was happy, the man was the sun itself; luminescent, stunning, and everything Tony revolved around.

"Wait, is this...oh my God, is this an  _engagement_ ring? Like to be  _married?_ Married, married? Married, like boy meets girl and they fall in love and walk down the aisle and have kids and grandkids and grow old and sit on a porch and stay together until they die,  _married?"_

Tony blinked.

Then,

"Okay, well, there's a couple of key things in your version of happily ever after we might want to discuss because while I love you very much there are certain things I can't exactly provide for you because there are certain departmental requirements I don't really possess-"

"You  _love_ me?"

"Thus the ring, yeah."

"Are you kidding? I can't accept this."

Tony went stone-still.

"What do you mean?"

"Marrying another man, I mean, it's not..." Steve's face, confused but indignant with just a hint discomfort, said more than enough, "It's one thing to mess around a little after dark in the barracks, but holy heck, getting married? I don't think I've ever seen two men date _,_ getting married is so far beyond that, and I mean, I don't even think it's  _legal,_ do you? I'm sorry, um, Tony, but even if I did remember you, I don't think you've thought this through."

"Do you know how long I've had this ring?" Tony murmured, then continued because of course Steve didn't know, "I've had this in my pocket at all times for almost  _half a year._ It took me a half a year to propose to the love of my life and congratulations because now I swear on my life after this I am never procrastinating on anything at all important again ever."

"You're very confusing."

"I ramble. My point is, yes, I've thought this through, I've thought about this longer than I think I've ever thought about anything in my life. And yes, god, it's legal. At least, it is in New York, where we happen to, y'know, live together."

"I've been  _living with you?_ "

"Me and the rest of team, yes. For more than a year now."

"Look, I don't know what you thought was going to happen here, but I think you need to change your plans."

"I am most certainly  _not_ changing my plans."

"Well, I'm most certainly  _not_  marrying you."

Well,  _fuck_. That stung.

"Fine, I will postpone my plans until I can bring my husband-to-be's memory back, I think that's a fair compromise," Tony attempted dry humor.

Maybe this wasn't the time for humor. But really, what else could he say? The love of his life, the man he'd been in love with for a year, the man he'd kissed, proposed, and made love to less than 12 hours ago, was telling him that right now, that all meant nothing to him.

That Tony meant nothing to him.

"Do  _not_ call me that," Steve hissed,  _actually fucking hissed,_ and it occurred to Tony that right now he didn't know the man sitting across from him at all.

"Steve, I-"

"And you can take this back, too."

Steve didn't so much hand as shove the ring into Tony's palm, effectively shattering Tony's heart into a million little ring-sized pieces.  _God_ that hurt. He knew this wasn't his Steve, but seeing Steve,  _any_ Steve, shove his engagement ring, his perfect, unique, wonderful engagement ring back into his hand...Tony couldn't think of anything he could possibly say.

"Look..." it was obvious Steve had finally noticed the pain he was inflicting, and felt remotely sorry about it, "I don't mean to be cruel. It's just...I'm not...I'm not like that. I don't know what you think, or what I led you to think, but...that's not me."

Well, he got one thing right.

This wasn't Steve.

"Maybe it's best if we don't mention this to the others," Tony murmured, pocketing the ring, "We hadn't told them yet anyway."

"I think that would be best."


	2. Chapter 2

Steve was kept under hospital observation for a month while the doctors worked to examine every aspect of his condition.

For the first week, Tony never once left the room. By the end of it, he looked awful; his clothes were rumpled, his hair was a greasy mess, and he probably didn't smell too great either. But he refused to let that first absolutely horrible conversation be the end of it. In spite of Steve's clear reluctance to so much as speak to him, Tony had continued talking, about them, about himself, about Steve, about anything that would bring back even a spark of a memory. He didn't overload Steve with specifics or dates or information, just tried to tell him what it would mean to him if Steve would just take a chance and get to know him again. But Steve very quickly made himself clear: he didn't  _want_ to know Tony. He shouted at him even, threatening to have him kicked out if he tried to push the issue.

Tony fell silent.

He told Steve he would answer any questions Steve had, but after that never once so much as opened his mouth without prompting. But he never left the room either, which it became quite clear Steve had been hoping for. Steve refused to ask him anything, reserving his questions for when the nurses or one of the other Avengers came by. Every time he did so, it was like he was digging another needle into Tony's heart; Tony knew he wasn't doing it on purpose, that Tony just made him uncomfortable, but that knowledge didn't make it hurt any less.

Steve attempted to get him removed at least three separate times, but the people he asked were SHIELD nurses, and they knew full well the extent of Tony and Steve's relationship. They simply told him that Tony was allowed to stay as long as he wasn't causing trouble, and one of them even told Steve that when his memories returned he would understand. This darkened Steve's mood for the rest of the day. Though Tony understood she had been trying to help, and he was impossibly grateful that they understood he needed to be here, it had not been the right thing to say. Steve was struggling enough with all the news that had been heaped onto his plate lately, treating him like a child who just couldn't understand would only make it worse.

Tony stayed a week after Steve had shouted at him. It was a long, silent week of pure hell for Tony, but he stayed anyway, the smallest part of him hoping that against all odds Steve might give in and speak to him again.

He didn't.

It wasn't a comfortable silence, either. It was gut-wrenchingly painful, the way Steve pointedly ignored so much as looking in his direction, the way he acted as if Tony was invisible if anyone else came to visit. If he was reminded by anyone of Tony's presence, Steve's face twisted into a grimace, as if it caused him physical pain for Tony to simply be in the room.

It was that look that eventually drove Tony out.

He left late at night, after Steve had fallen asleep, and went back to the Tower to shower and clean up. He tried to get some sleep and failed, so he tried to tinker in the workshop, but couldn't get anything done. He just couldn't bring himself to sit around on his ass when Steve was in the hospital. But if his presence was causing Steve pain…well, he couldn't be there, either. Within an hour of leaving, Tony found himself back again, sitting just outside Steve's room feeling more miserable and alone than he had ever felt in his miserable, lonely life.

* * *

He couldn't believe it.

At least, he didn't want to believe it. It was illegal, and wrong, and in what world did that sort of thing happen? Not his. But though he didn't want to believe it, the longer Tony sat there, watching him, distress and worry so clearly visible in his eyes…it made Steve wonder.

And Steve  _hated_  him for that.

He'd tried to get the man ejected, but the nurses had told him he wasn't causing any trouble, that he was only trying to help Steve. One of them had even told him he'd be thankful when his memories returned, which had only succeeded in ticking him off further. Because something about her words struck home; the longer Tony sat there, watching him with those big brown eyes, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy, the more familiar he felt. Not familiar like he  _loved_ the man. He wouldn't even say it was a good sort of familiar. It was just…familiar. Like a song you could remember the rhythm of, but not the words; something you know existed in your head once.

And Steve couldn't stand it.

He hadn't asked for this. Sure, so maybe he'd had the urge once or twice before, but he had promptly squished it down like any good, God-fearing man did and had never once dreamed of acting on it. Okay, maybe dreaming was the wrong choice of word because he might have had a dream once-perhaps twice-but that wasn't the  _point._

The point was that Tony needed to get out of his God damn head.

After a week or so, Steve woke up in the hospital bed late one night. He was sleepy and disoriented, his fingers clutching at the scratchy sheets, and all he could think was that something was  _missing._ Which was silly, because everything was missing, Bucky and Peggy and his entire world, really, but that wasn't it. It was something more intimate, more familiar to him, and he couldn't figure out was it was. He shot up in bed, his breathing heavy and his heart racing, blinking around in the darkness. Why was it so dark? He didn't remember it being this dark before.

He waited, expecting Tony to be unable to keep his mouth shut, expecting the ever-present man to pester him about the little panic attack, bug him about if he was okay. There was silence, and Steve looked around, but he couldn't see anything in the darkness. Then, a soft blue glow flashed in his mind, and he realized what was missing.

Tony had left.

And suddenly he was sinking, falling and falling with nothing to grab onto. His chest felt heavy and tight, like all the air had left his lungs in one fell swoop, and it  _hurt._ He gripped the side of the bed tightly, and the bars, no match for his strength, caved under his hands. He took a deep, steadying breath; this was good. This was fine. He  _wanted_ the man gone, had wanted him and his constant  _watching_  gone for a week. He was good. He was fine. He didn't need or want anyone watching over him.

Steve found that in spite of this, in spite of his little  _I am good, I am fine,_ chant, he was unable to calm himself. He was no doctor, but he could hear the spikes on the device next to his bed, and they didn't sound great. He turned to look out the window, into the hallway, to see if any of the nurses had noticed. Instead, he saw a blue glow, casting light on a slumped figure in one of the chairs outside his room. The figure had their head in their hands, and their shoulders were shaking softly.

_Tony._

The thought resonated in his mind, so achingly familiar, as he watched the man cry out in the hallway. He looked wrecked and heart-broken, and something in Steve was desperate to pick him up, hold all the little broken pieces together in his arms even if they made him bleed. The thought was startling, and Steve shook his head to clear it. But the fog of sleep was washing over him again, and that was something Steve couldn't shake. He faded back into sleep then, the image of the crying blue shadow haunting his dreams for weeks afterwards.

* * *

Each of his new teammates, the "Avengers", had visited since he'd woken up. Tony was one too, it seemed, but Steve tried quite actively not to think about him any more than was strictly necessary. A man who called himself Agent Phil Coulson had been the first to come to see him. In a calm, rational voice, he'd told him about the Avengers Initiative and a government agency called SHIELD.

After that the others had been allowed in, starting with two SHIELD agents, Agent Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye, and Agent Natasha Romanov, aka Black Widow. They'd talked with him for a while, telling stories about the battles they'd fought and about what they and the others were like. Agent Barton was funny and sarcastic and just a bit crude at times, while Agent Romanov was clearly the more professional of the two, though she seemed to let him get away with a lot, even occasionally cracking a small smile at his antics. At one point, after they had described countless fights and memories and events together, Steve noticed something.

"I thought Tony was an Avenger. Why is he never in these stories?"

They both hesitated, and it was Agent Romanov who answered.

"He's in every one of these stories. Tony has never been absent from any part of your life after about the first month of your time as an Avenger. We were informed you didn't wish to talk about him, so we were careful not to."

Steve should have been grateful; it felt more like disappointment.

After Agents Barton and Romanov left, Thor and Dr. Banner came to see him. Thor was loud and energetic, where Dr. Banner was quieter, almost hesitant. Thor made a few slips about Tony, in spite of Dr. Banner's best efforts to silence him, and Steve found himself somehow both desperate to hear more and disgusted with himself for even thinking it. The warring thoughts in his mind tired him out, and before he knew it, Dr. Banner was pulling Thor away, telling Steve to get some sleep.

The fourth time Agent Coulson visited him, during the third week into Steve's recovery, he brought along a device called a "laptop", and told Steve that if it was alright with him, he was going to give him a summary of everything that had happened since he'd lost his memory, accompanying his stories with pictures and news articles, put together into something called a "powerpoint".

Steve had nodded his assent.

The slideshow started with some things he remembered, about Erskine and Howard and the super soldier serum, what it had done to him and the aftereffects it had. It went on about the Howling Commandos and their war efforts, which Steve remembered. Then it went into unknown territory.

On a mission to capture Zola off a train, Bucky had been blasted off and fallen to his death. Steve had apparently fought on and captured Zola, who had spilled information about the final HYDRA stronghold. He'd eventually fought and defeated Schmidt, but been unable to land the plane without risking detonating its weapons. He'd crashed it in the Arctic, and was frozen in the process. Howard had looked for him for decades and eventually recovered the Tesseract, but didn't live long enough to uncover Steve himself.

The powerpoint then jumped to the next Avenger to be recruited, Tony, also known as Iron Man. Steve couldn't think of a polite way to ask Agent Coulson to skip it, so he reluctantly watched. It went on about how Tony was Howard Stark's son, a self-proclaimed genius billionaire playboy philanthropist. He lived the party lifestyle until being kidnapped and almost killed in war-torn Afghanistan. He was critically wounded in the ambush, and now had something called shrapnel inching towards his heart, trying to kill him. To stop this, his fellow captive plugged him into a car battery. Tony later improved upon this, developing the world's first miniature arc reactor to power himself and the iron suit he designed to help him break free of imprisonment and get rescued. Upon coming home he stopped all weapons manufacturing, something someone called Obediah Stane protested to.

At the name Stane, Steve froze. An overwhelming, violent anger gripped him, images flashing through his mind; Tony frozen and pale on a couch, black veins streaked across his temples as an older man reached in and plucked the arc reactor straight from his chest. Tony crawling along a floor, a robotic hand, the smashing of glass. Then he was back in the present, sweat on his forehead, fists clenched in silent, white hot fury.

"Anything?" Agent Coulson asked, and though his face remained blank, his voice clearly contained hope. Steve shook his head.

"Nothing…tangible," Steve shook his head, releasing a shaky breath, "Just images."

"Of?"

"Tony," Steve hated bringing the man up, but he had a burning need to understand the vision that had sparked such a response in him, "Did this…Stane, did he take the reactor from him?"

"Yes. Paralyzed him with a sonic device, took the reactor for himself and left Stark for dead, though he managed to save himself in the nick of time," Agent Coulson gave the briefest of smiles, "It's a particularly frustrating specialty of his."

"I see," Steve nodded, then, "Did we…know each other, then? I would have thought that we met when the Avengers Initiative began, how do I…how can I remember that?"

Agent Coulson paused a moment in thought, then,

"You've always been keen on knowing the details of attacks on Stark's life so that they could be prevented in the future. He has video recordings of everything that goes on in his home, and since Stane's attack took place there, I would be willing to bet you asked to see the recordings. And if you did, I'm sure he gave you access to them."

"He would…he let me watch something like that?" the moments that had flashed through Steve's mind seemed immensely personal.

"…" Agent Coulson was quiet a moment, clearly contemplating whether or not to say something, before deciding he should, "Even now, I doubt there's anything he wouldn't give you if you asked. Tony has never been anything but completely devoted to you. Though it's clearly something you don't wish to think about and we all understand that, do try to take his feelings on the matter into account too."

It was the first time the Agent had said 'Tony' instead of the usual 'Stark', and Steve found it incredibly unsettling.

* * *

"He has post-traumatic amnesia."

"And that means what, exactly?" Coulson asked, but before the doctor could answer, Tony was waving a hand.

"Post-traumatic amnesia is usually due to a head injury, like when Steve was hit. Because the wound is generally inflicted with a sudden, sharp blow to the head, this kind of amnesia is usually temporary, though it can be permanent if the damage is in the right area, spreads far enough, or if there are additional complications. It can be anterograde, retrograde, or mixed, and how long the amnesia lasts depends on the degree of injury. Steve clearly has retrograde amnesia, the loss of pre-existing memories. This type of amnesia usually targets the most recent memories first, and the amount of memories lost depends on the severity of the blow to the hippocampus. The effects of retrograde amnesia usually strike at declarative memory, which would be his personal memories or abstract facts, as opposed to procedural memory, things like how to tie his shoelaces."

"When did you become a medical expert?" the doctor raised an amused eyebrow.

"Last night," Tony answered, though even his sass lacked it's usual energy. His next words were more exhausted honesty than any sort of wit or sarcasm, "I'm a genius with a StarkPad and my boyfriend has amnesia, what do you think I'm going to spend my time doing out here?"

It was true. Unable to sleep and barely able to hold himself together, Tony had done nothing for the past month but immerse himself in everything amnesia, searching for any and all relevant information. Well, he had taken a few hours break to make Steve a powerpoint, something Coulson could show him to jog his memory. And he was glad he had, because apparently it'd worked. The moment had been about Obie, of all things, but Tony had never liked Obie more than in that moment.

"Yes, well, regardless of your lack of a medical degree, you're right," the doctor nodded, "It's post-traumatic retrograde amnesia, but I'm optimistic about a full recovery. He experienced a flashback with Agent Coulson here that clearly showed his old memories are buried, not gone."

The relief on Tony's face was clear as day, and about as bright.

"How long?"

"Aren't you going to tell me?" the doctor asked humorously, earning an appreciative snort from Agent Coulson, but he took pity on Tony and answered anyway, "I'm afraid that's undeterminable. It could take him months, he could remember tomorrow, there's no way to know. The best thing to do is to get him back into his old schedule. His routines are ingrained in his body more than his mind is currently aware of, the more he slips back into them, the more he's likely to remember."

So after another two weeks of monitored hospitalization, a month and a half after he'd been hit on the head, they finally brought Steve home to Avengers Tower. He'd asked to be left alone to explore for a little while, and Natasha had suggested they all go out to give him some time.

"A good idea, Agent Romanov, I shall keep watch over Captain Rogers."

"Thank you, JARVIS," Steve answered without a moment's thought. Then he suddenly realized he had no idea who had just spoken, why he answered, or what the hell a JARVIS was. The others stared at him, and he voiced his concern, "What's a JARVIS?"

They explained the concept of Tony's supercomputer AI, though Steve couldn't help but notice the disappointment on their faces. They left him alone after that, Tony casting one last look over his shoulder before they dragged him off to eat something called shawarma, and Steve wandered the house alone. Though he was technically wandering, there seemed to be purpose to his steps.

He found the kitchen first, and the memories of good food and family bonding rushed him all at once. Like a needle dropping on a record, his mind was suddenly filled with the sounds of rambunctious, good-natured chatter, the sizzle and pop of frying bacon, the clink and clatter of dishes loaded into the sink afterwards. He could smell the lemony soap, could hear the whistle of a tea kettle and the beeping that signaled coffee was ready, feel the warm arms sliding around his waist as familiar lips pressed a good-morning kiss just under his ear-

What?

 _Stop it,_  Steve shook his head, unwilling to think anything more of it. He left the kitchen in a daze, his mind heavy but his heart somehow lighter. He walked right into the rec room, and found himself bombarded once again. There was once again chatter in his ears, familiar voices bickering with easy playfulness, this time accompanied by cheesy lines and sound effects and the swell of music in the background. He had crossed the room, and he sank into the couch cushions now without even realizing it, taking in the faint smell of popcorn.

There were other scents, too; something clean and masculine, almost soapy, that made him think of sassy, sarcastic comebacks and the clean line of a straight arrow and something about vents. There was an earthy, strong scent that made him think of boundless enthusiasm for life and battle, and caused him to hear the boom of thunder rattling in his ears. Then there was something subtle and feminine, rosy almost, that brought to mind the smooth curves of both a woman and a blade, and the deadliness of them both. There was a calming vanilla scent underneath it all, maybe lavender, and he thought of kind eyes and subtle humor and a blinding green rage that could eclipse it.

But even stronger and far more addictive was the scent of sweat and grease and metal wrapped up in a hint of cologne and the over-powering sense of _home._

If Steve hadn't already been sitting on the couch, it probably would have knocked his knees out from under him. He took a moment to steady his breathing and right himself before he stood up, swiftly exiting the room. He wasn't sure where he should walk, but  _not here_ seemed like a good plan.

He speed-walked out, up the stairs before he could even concern himself with where his feet were taking him. He headed straight for a particular room, and found himself collapsing on the bed before he could question what exactly he was doing. He was suddenly exhausted; the past six weeks had been long and disheartening and suffocatingly  _new_. Lying there, curling up in the soft, familiar pale blue sheets, one blissful thought passed through Steve's mind before he fell asleep.

_It's good to be home._

* * *

"Steve is  _where?_ " Tony questioned. They'd just returned home, and Tony had asked JARVIS to relay Steve's whereabouts, "Did you tell him that was our room, or did he go there himself?"

"I did not tell him, and he never asked. But I feel the need to add that had his memory returned, I believe he would have called you directly, sir."

"Of course," Tony nodded, swallowing the small hope that couldn't help but build, "Probably just…old habits. They die hard, and all."

"It's something, Tony," Natasha put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

"Even if he doesn't remember why he went there, it's probably still familiar to him. That's something to build off of, at least," Bruce assured him.

"If he'll even talk to me," Tony sighed, then, heading for the workshop, "It's fine, I've, uh, I've got a lot of work to catch up on anyway. I'll see you all later."

They let him escape with the flimsy excuse, knowing he needed it.

Tony spent the next six hours down there, fiddling with model sketches and piecing things together only to take them apart again. He did nothing of consequence, just let his hands move absently, his mind too busy thinking about Steve to actually work on anything. Steve himself was asleep upstairs, and Tony had given JARVIS strict instructions to let him know if that changed. Though Steve probably still wouldn't be too keen on seeing Tony…it didn't mean Tony wouldn't keep trying.

Tony had already made his decision. He wasn't going to give up on Steve; this was most likely not permanent, so he would do his best to trigger Steve's memory. If that didn't work…well, he didn't like thinking about it, but he had considered the possibility that it might be permanent. Even if this was permanent, even if Steve would never remember their first date, their first year, their first proposal, well, Tony would be damned if any it was their last. He knew that Steve might be biased against him right now, but they'd had a shaky start the first time around too. It might be rough going at first, but Tony would win him over, Tony  _knew_ he would win him over, because underneath it all, Steve was still Steve, and Steve loved him. They would get through this.

And if that meant starting from scratch, then so be it.


	3. Chapter 3

When Tony woke up, his first thought was that this was downright insulting.

He couldn't get much from his surroundings, but from what he could tell, he was in a trunk. He could feel the cramped surroundings, along with the smell of gasoline and the occasional screeching of tires. Unfortunately, thanks to the bag over his head and gag in his mouth, he didn't have any other available senses to test this theory with. He wasn't particularly stoked about it, but he wasn't quite panicking yet; Tony had been getting kidnapped since he was a child. Being a Stark, it was sort of a thing. Afghanistan had been undoubtedly the worst, but this was definitely the most insulting.

Tony couldn't help but wince as the vehicle took a sharp turn and his head slammed into the side of the car. Jesus Christ, another fucking blow to the head today and he was going to be an amnesiac too. Maybe then Steve would talk to him.

And that thought hurt more than any blow he'd received, today or otherwise.

* * *

**One Hour Ago**

* * *

"Open the door, pretty boy," a man grunted, holding the gun to his head with obvious pleasure.

Tony had stepped outside for some air a few moments ago, using the back exit of his workshop. The door locked shut behind him, and it would take a passcode and a bio-scan of Tony to get anyone in or out. The man with the gun had appeared silently from behind him, and now three more were slinking forward.

Though they all wore ski masks, Tony was quick to name them; Right Wing (the burly gun enthusiast digging one into his skull), Crazy Beard (the fat one who looked like he and his curly, mountain man beard belonged in a circus), Toothpick (a ridiculously skinny, greasy-looking older man who looked to be in charge), and Cueball (the muscular behemoth who might or might not be bald, but looked like a "cueball" kind of a guy regardless). Mocking though the nicknames were, they were all packing heat and it was quite clear Tony didn't stand a chance without his suit, which remained unfortunately unavailable.

"And why should I?"

Didn't stop his mouth though.

"We need to see the man with a plan," Crazy Beard quipped, thinking himself witty.

"That was probably not your best answer," Tony snorted.

"Look, if you let us in, no one will even need to know. We'll let you scamper off safe and sound," Toothpick attempted to assure him, "Just let us see the Captain, and no one gets hurt here."

"Guess this is gonna have to hurt then," Tony shrugged casually, before catching Right Wing off guard with a sharp elbow jab. He then attempted to snatch the gun from his hand; unfortunately, the hitman was better trained than Tony had expected. He kept his grip on the gun, and used it to smack Tony across the face instead. Tony wavered, momentarily dazed.

"Wait...wait, isn't this guy Iron Man?" Cueball questioned, examining Tony intently.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Tony blinked, dazed but still managing to be quite indignant.

"No, this is the SHIELD agent. Get it together," Toothpick shot Cueball a derisive look.

"Aw, fuck you guys," Okay, now he was seriously offended. Right Wing clocked him with the gun again, and Tony's head snapped back, hitting the door with a thump. He let out a string of curses, then tried to right himself and ended up stumbling. The hitmen continued arguing.

"No, seriously, look at his beard, that's Iron Man's beard. This is Tony Stark," Cueball insisted.

"I did hear he was a pain in the ass," Crazy Beard supplied, "Sounds about right if you ask me."

"Of course I'm Tony Stark you dipshits, have you read any magazine or newspaper like ever? Do you even  _own_ computers? If you own any Stark technology I'm officially reclaiming it, because you guys don't deserve jack shi-"

And there went that gun across the back of his skull again.

" _Wow,_ fuck, okay, uncalled for, big guy."

"Whether he's Tony Stark or not, the orders were for Captain America, let's just-"

"First of all, none of you will be touching Cap anytime ever, so you all can forget that bullshit. Secondly, my suit is ten times better than Spangles' anyway, fuck you very much. Thirdly,  _seriously_ how do you not know who I am?"

"Oh my God," Right Wing groaned, "Do you ever stop  _talking_?"

"Not really. I'm working on it, but I still tend to ramble a lot, especially when I'm surprised, and man, I gotta tell you,  _not_ getting recognized is a shock and a half, seriously, I mea-"

Two bullets dug into the ground a hair away from each of his feet.

"Oh fuckity fuck fuck  _why_ is it always fucking  _guns,_  fucking hell-"

"Just let us in!" Right Wing demanded, frustrated with Tony's bullshit.

"Let us in, and the guns disappear, alright?" Toothpick attempted to convince him, "All your problems will go away if you just open the door."

But because Tony Stark was stupidly unafraid of pretty much everything, he opened his sarcastic mouth instead.

"Well, no, they really won't, because if you go in there and shoot up my fiancé it's kind of going break what's little is left of my heart these days, and I consider that a pretty big problem."

Dead silence.

Long, awkward, completely and _utterly dead_ silence.

Eventually, it was of course Tony that spoke, because really, why would he learn his lesson?

"Well, fuck."

More silence.

"The Captain's playtoy works; take him," Toothpick ordered at last.

"Hey now, fuck you, I'm Tony Stark, I'm fucking  _Iron Man,_ kidnap me cause I'm Iron Man or rich or something! I am nobody's  _'playtoy'_ , thank you very much!"

"Christ, gag him already, would you? _"_ Toothpick growled to Right Wing.

"I have a better solution," Right Wing sneered, taking pleasure in smashing the butt of his gun down on Tony's head, and in the blink of an eye Tony collapsed to the ground, completely unconscious.

* * *

The Avengers watched the video feed courtesy of JARVIS.

Of course, the alarms had gone off the second the intruders had approached Tony just outside the perimeter. But the only way to get to that particular area was through Tony's workshop, which required codes and scans and other hassles, or to go out through the front and cut around. Though they'd split up, by the time either party had gotten out there, it had been too late.

They were now playing the video back, watching in silence as Tony idiotically refused to listen to them, refused to shut his mouth. Natasha muttered a curse in Russian, and Clint was grinding his teeth, muttering something about "let them in, you fucking moron, we're trained for this". Bruce fiddled with his hands anxiously, but no one thought to wake Steve, nor did JARVIS alert them when he slipped in on his own.

The video came to the part where Tony declared he wasn't letting them in to shoot up his fiancé, and there was a collective flinch. Though they were already watching in silence, every Avenger went very still, the past month and a half of Tony's clear agony playing back over in their minds. His desperate determination that Steve would remember him, that something inside Steve  _had_ to remember.

Steve stepped forward, entranced by the video, his eyes going dark and something in him growing cold with dread. Agent Coulson was the first to see him, and the others weren't far behind. They said nothing, still watching the video, but it was impossible to miss the way Steve flinched when Tony was knocked unconscious. The kidnappers dragged Tony's limp body off screen, and JARVIS informed them that, unfortunately, it was the only footage he was able to provide.

Steve spun on his heel, promptly locking his jaw and walking away. He went up to his room, to  _their_ room, and slammed the door with a force that must have shaken the whole Tower. He needed a minute to freaking process. He sank onto his bed- _their bed-_ his head in his hands. Just as Tony had broken down outside his hospital room, Steve broke then, the overwhelming sense of loss hitting him square in the chest. He wanted to say he didn't know why it hurt so badly, but he did. Though he couldn't remember when and how and why this feeling had come to be lodged so deeply in him, he knew that somewhere in that vast gap of time he couldn't remember, he had fallen in love with Tony Stark.

And it was still there, still deeply embedded in him; he could feel it in his bones, in his veins, in every breath of his being, even if his mind wouldn't supply the reasons for it. That video had been physically painful to watch in a way Steve couldn't deny, and the pictures of his and Tony's smiling faces littered throughout the room said more than enough.

When he finally emerged, eyes dried and steeled with resolve, Agent Coulson was the first to speak.

"Did you know?"

No one needed to clarify what he meant.

"He told me once. When I first woke up," Steve remembered, then, as he remembered his response to it, his voice became small with shame, "I threw the ring at him."

Of all of them, he had not expected Natasha to react. She didn't gasp, not exactly, but she gave a small, quiet exhale, like she'd taken a hit to the stomach. Surprise, disbelief, and no small amount of distress were visible in her eyes; it was clear she knew exactly how much that must have _destroyed_ Tony.

And now that it was too late, Steve was beginning to know too.

The others looked no less shocked; Clint choked on his own spit, Bruce's hand went to his mouth, and Thor looked downright horrified. Agent Coulson, ever steady Agent Coulson, had his mouth open in dismay. He closed it quickly, but the look in his eyes didn't fade. He was clearly warring with a protectiveness over Tony that Steve hadn't expected, and the knowledge that Steve hadn't known what it had meant.

They all seemed to be struggling with it, trying to remind themselves that though what Steve had done was so clearly  _horrible,_ he couldn't have known how much his small action had meant to Tony. A man, Steve was more and more beginning to realize, clearly all but  _revolved_ around Steve. A man who had done nothing but sit by his side and try to talk to him, try to help him, since the moment Steve had woken up.

Even after he had taken the ring Tony had so carefully, so personally designed, and thrown it back into his shocked hands.

Instead of storming out, instead of giving up, Tony had stayed by his side. Steve had told him he would never marry him, shouted at him to stop telling him about their life, ignored him for days, and attempted to get him removed; even then, Tony could have insisted on staying but he instead moved far enough that Steve would feel more comfortable. Even then, he had never left.

Steve still didn't remember Tony, but he didn't need to remember to know that he was never going to forgive himself.

* * *

Natasha and Clint scoped out the scene and attempted to hunt down any witnesses. The hitmen seemed to have some experience, but they also obviously weren't professionals. They were working for someone else, the mentions of orders had made that clear enough. Either way, the Tower was now on lockdown, and the rest of the Avengers were ordered to stay under JARVIS' safety net.

There was one technical witness, a young male who'd heard someone yelling fuck a lot. It collaborated with the video feed, but certainly didn't help much, so they'd let him go. Coulson had been on and off the phone with Fury since the kidnapping, and when he wasn't on the phone he was running a trace on Tony's face-a longshot, but it was something to make them all feel a little better.

Within two hours, a video call was made to Tony's StarkPad. Coulson gathered the Avengers and answered.

Tony was tied and bound to a chair, his head covered with a sack. From the noises he was making, his mouth seemed to be gagged as well. Natasha and Clint were each running through the dozens of ways they knew how to escape it, while wondering if Tony had ever learned. It was possible; Tony always seemed to have a trick up his sleeve of some kind, and the Stark heir had certainly survived enough kidnappings to make one a little more willing to believe in his escape abilities than the average kidnappee.

Wouldn't stop them from moving out on his location the second they learned where it was, of course.

A voice off-screen made their demands: Captain America for Tony Stark. Before Coulson could even give a response, Tony struggled enough to flip his chair over backwards. Clint's eyes narrowed. Tony had to know that was a futile attempt, and he also wasn't stupid enough to try and escape while he was clearly being watched. Someone came on screen, a big lug with a curly beard, and he righted the chair; Natasha smiled. Stark always knew how to swing it.

As someone cursed the bearded man out off-screen, Coulson was already moving, typing out commands to JARVIS on his StarkPad. He ordered a screenshot of the man's face to be run through all possible databases, as well as a SHIELD-ordered satellite imaging search. The kidnappers started talking, but Tony flipped his chair over again the second they opened their mouths. This time someone kicked him.

"One moment," the off-screen voice said snidely, before disconnecting. Before anyone could say a word, JARVIS interrupted them.

"They have only disconnected visual, I have a back channel that will connect you to the audio feed."

Coulson nodded tensely, and they listened in silence to the sound of cloth being torn and a new voice declaring, "What the fuck is it  _now?",_ but the voice was overridden by Tony the moment the gag was ripped off.

"Steve, don't you fucking dare do a thing they say, I'll kill you myself, I swear to god-"

"He can't hear you, moron," one of the guards snickered.

"Sure he can't," It was obvious Tony was smirking his 'bitch please, I'm Tony Stark' smirk, and it was clear he knew JARVIS had a way to reconnect the audio, "Well, since he can't hear me, I'm gonna go ahead and just share with you guys that even after everything that's happened lately I am still massively in love with Steve Rogers and he should just trust me, because I totally got this, and there's no reason he should even remotely consider listening to anything you dickhea- _fuck!"_

There was the sound of something hard and metal smacking into what was probably Tony's head. There was a terrifying moment of radio silence, before Tony's ever-sarcastic voice piped back up.

"Jesus, you people really love your guns, don't you? Hey, hey, no need for that, I got it, just…tell you what, just take the bag off my head, and I won't even move, okay? Just let me see him."

His voice was breaking Steve's heart. Steve moved in front of Coulson, praying to God they let Tony through.

"Fine, whatever, but you say a word, Stark, and I swear I'll shoot you in the head myself. Let the Captain see that, huh?"

The camera flickered back on. Steve and Tony locked eyes, and for a moment, there was no one else in the world.

Tony was so clearly, so desperately looking for even the briefest sign that Steve remembered; he didn't find it. He smiled then, trying to assure Steve that it didn't matter, but it was so impossibly obvious that it did. Steve wasn't sure exactly how he could tell, but he just  _knew_  Tony's smile wasn't real, knew it was just to stop Steve from worrying. Tony might as well have had 'broken-hearted' tattooed on his forehead, it was that  _clear_ to Steve.

"I love you."

The words were out of his mouth before he could think about it too hard, desperate to say anything that would make Tony feel better. There was something in there, mixed up with the want to help Tony, something very distinctly familiar that hit him as the words rolled across his tongue. Like this was normal, like this was exactly what he was supposed to doing, always.

But then Tony flinched, and Steve realized how selfishly cruel he had been yet again.

Because he hadn't meant it,  _couldn't_ have meant it, the way Tony needed him to. He didn't remember whatever it was they had been, didn't know the emotional connections and the increasing levels of trust and all the moments big and small that had built them up to what they had been. Tony could hear so clearly, so perfectly how different the words were when Steve said it now, and though Steve had meant it as a comfort, he might as well have slapped Tony in the face.

Coulson gestured for Steve to move, seeing the same horrifyingly pained look on Tony's face that Steve had, and he talked with the kidnappers while Steve tried to figure out how to apologize for what he'd done. They made demands again and Coulson handled things well, but eventually they made their demand final. They were about to cut out when Tony gave a grim smile and opened his damn mouth.

"When I saw the taser marks on my arm, I thought of you, buddy," Tony winked at Coulson, and the camera buzzed and cut off just as an arm lashed out for Tony's cheek.

As the hand connected and the camera cut out, Steve suddenly choked and fell back out of his chair. Though they thought he was just surprised and tried to help him up, he waved his arms for them to give him space. He took a deep breath, slow but shaky, and he looked up at them. Even before he could say a word, it was clear in his eyes.

"I remember," he murmured, turning the words over in his mouth like a revelation, "I remember, the Chitauri invading and all of us coming together and saving the world, and…"

He turned the new memories over and over in his mind, until they came to the end.

"I remember saying goodbye. I shook Tony's hand, I got on my motorcycle, I left, then…nothing."

* * *

The next twenty-four hours were a blur. Everyone seemed busy doing something, working with SHIELD to track Tony's location, training for when they found the bastards,  _something._ Steve alone seemed lost, and everyone else was too busy to help him. So he watched the beginning of the demand video so many times he could barely see straight.

He watched Tony's eyes, captivated by the bright, hopeful light in their brown depths, and restarted the video before he could kill that hope. He couldn't remember, he couldn't  _fucking remember,_ but he watched the tape over and over and over until he was falling in love with those eyes, mixing this new love with the old love he knew was buried somewhere until he could blur the lines and call it his own.

He remembered some things, everything up until he and Tony had parted comrades after Thor had taken Loki back to Asgard. He remembered so clearly the sense of desolate hopelessness he'd carried with him, buried deep in his chest, a battle scar not even the doctors of the future could heal. Because before Tony, Steve had been wondering if everything he had done had been pointless.

When he went under, the world had been at war. When he woke up they said they'd won...and yet, there he'd been, fighting against the same evil he'd fought 70 years ago. The same evil he'd taken a suicidal nosedive into the ocean to destroy. Yet they hauled both him and that God awful Tesseract back out of the ocean, reviving them both like there wouldn't be consequences. He told himself that if history was just going replay itself over and over, what was the point of fighting? He told himself he was getting too tired to fight a pointless battle anymore.

Then Tony did as Tony does, and he found a way out even if it meant a one way trip and he did it without question, pause, or regret. When Tony fell from the sky, it felt like the end. Not just of Tony, not just of the battle, but the end of Steve's patience with this new world and it's repetition. Tony, he knew now, he knew too late, was a good man, a great man, and a true hero. And now, another dead body to be swept away in a sea of disaster. How many more would there have to be, and for what, really? For nothing. For the repetition of history, for the same battles won and lost over and over, for the same good men to die for nothing more than a delay of injustice.

Then, Tony had woken up.

And for perhaps the first time, Steve wasn't comparing that moment to the past. He hadn't been thinking about how trapped he felt in a strange world, how everything he fought for seemed pointless, how Bucky was worth ten of these worthless future heroes with nothing but big talk and self-importance inflating them like flimsy balloons.

For the first time, there  _was_  no comparison. Tony wasn't Bucky; Tony would never be Bucky, and Bucky would never be Tony. Tony was his own man. His own incredible, unique man that would cut the wire while the other guys crawled over him. There was something about him, something he had proved then and had apparently continued to prove in all the time they had known each other; Tony Stark was mad. Stark raving mad, if one wanted to be witty about it. His mind worked in ways that were absolutely not normal. He built things other people couldn't begin to imagine, understood things on a level that was out of reach for most. When he got bored it was often and it was destructive, simply because he had no other outlet for that intense sort of energy, that madness.

Though that wasn't always a good thing (more often than not it was bad, really), but when push came to shove, when all the cards were on the table and the odds were stacked against them, Tony Stark was  _brilliantly_ mad. He was intensely creative, completely adaptable, and matchlessly persistent. These qualities, this Stark madness, was a bright flame that could survive even the darkest of nights; Steve had to believe that, had to believe in Tony.

Because Tony was not Bucky.

Tony would come back.

* * *

They got an ID on the kidnapper who had shown his face on the video within 48 hours, and they all immediately moved out to his last known location. Coulson had contacts that gave them a general area to look in, and Clint and Natasha scoured it. They eventually turned up some possibilities, and systematically narrowed it down to the right place, an abandoned warehouse a little ways outside the city.

It turned out that the people holding Tony were a grassroots organization attempting to recreate the super soldier serum. They had some privately wealthy members, and used that money to pay for supplies and armed guards that were as morally ambiguous as they were. The warehouse itself, Clint and Natasha's recon revealed, was two floors with a basement underneath. The first floor was armed guards and the control center, second floor was R&D. The basement was where Tony was being held, well-guarded and currently unconscious.

They raided the warehouse as a team. Coulson stayed back, but hooked them all up with coms and gave direct orders to keep him and Director Fury informed. Steve, still under watch, was given tentative command with Natasha as secondary. Clint incapacitated the guards out front with paralytic arrows, then Thor, Steve and a Hulked out Bruce barged through the front door and took out level one. Clint, Natasha, and Thor moved up, handling the upper level, while Bruce and Steve proceeded to the basement.

Tony was unconscious, chained to a metal support beam. The Hulk effectively tore through the remaining guards, though a burly guy with seemed a little too friendly with his gun attempted a couple of shots at Tony's head just for the sake of it. Probably not the best idea; that particular guard got a stomach-full of vibranium faster than he could aim.

While the Hulk finished incapacitating the others, Steve rushed to Tony. The arc reactor was dark, and Steve couldn't hear it's usual hum. He propped Tony up, pressing two fingers to his wrist; nothing. Steve felt the air leave his lungs in a great rush. He scrambled to press his head against Tony's chest, searching for any sign of a heartbeat. He could hear it, faint, but he would swear he could hear it.

Because he had to hear it, because Tony  _had to be alive._

He couldn't help himself; he shouted at Tony until his voice was hoarse, buried his trembling hands in Tony's shirt and shook him, almost violently, insisting,  _demanding_ he wake up. He felt a hand on his shoulder, steadying him, and it was all he could do not to turn and punch the person pulling him away in the face. It was Bruce, human now, and not looking too steady himself. His face was reserved, carefully withdrawn from the situation. That only made Steve's heart sink further.

His hands trembled as he knelt over the too-still man he'd loved once upon a forgotten time, and pulled him into his arms. He didn't know when he'd begun crying, but his shoulders shook and tear stains appeared on Tony's shirt and Steve couldn't find it in himself to care. Bruce lost control then, Hulking out again and roaring loudly as he could, beating his fists against the ground in hopes of a repeat of their first mission. Nothing. Steve couldn't understand it, couldn't bring himself to believe it; this was Tony Stark. He was always the one with the way out, the way to cut the wire and save the day.

But Tony, always the last one standing, wasn't waking up.

Natasha was the last to approach them. She assessed their faces, took in Steve's wet cheeks, the Hulk's unnatural paleness, Clint biting his knuckle viciously, and Thor, eternally optimistic, looking impossibly grim. She swore at them in Russian, then spoke to them in English.

"Do none of you have faith in Stark's obnoxious unwillingness to die?"

She descended on Steve then, knife in hand. Before any of them could react, she pushed Tony's limp body out of his arms and brought the knife down, flipping it over in her palm and slamming the handle on Tony's sternum with considerable force. Steve could have attacked her in blind rage, had he not been so completely blind-sided with confusion _._

And then, Tony had  _coughed._

His arc reactor whirred back to life, the blue light shining bright again through his shirt as Tony gulped in air. Steve had no words, nothing but a strangled sound in the back of his throat as he scooped Tony up, almost crushing the smaller man in his arms. Tony grunted in pain, and Steve instantly released him.

"What, no shawarma?" Tony's voice was cracked and barely audible, but his ever-present sarcasm shone through.

"You don't need to attempt suicide every time you want food, Stark," Natasha shot back, but the smile on her face radiated relief.

"Tony," Steve was breathless, but it was less because he was tired and more because he felt like he had been emotionally punched in the gut.

"Steve," Tony just smiled up at him, Steve's name rolling off his tongue with nothing but relief and love.

After everything, after every misstep Steve had made recently, after all the times he had broken Tony's heart with a shove or a shout, after the half-memories that could only remind Tony of just how much he had lost, Tony's smile hadn't lost an ounce of love. Tony had been kidnapped and beaten and almost killed and he was still smiling up at Steve like there was no one else in his entire world.

Before Steve knew it his body was taking over and he was kissing Tony, kissing him with everything he had because Tony  _was_ all he had. Tony was _alive_ and he was kissing him and nothing else could possibly matter in that one, perfect moment.

And in a flash, Steve remembered it all.

"Will you still have me?" he murmured against Tony's mouth, and Tony went still in his arms.

Tony held his breath uncertainly as he pulled away, pulled back from Steve to look at him, to really  _look_ at him. He searched those achingly familiar blue eyes for the spark he'd been waiting for, the spark he'd been _desperate_  for since Steve had first woken up months ago in a hospital bed, confused and disoriented.

He found it.

Tony crashed into Steve, his  _always_ lost somewhere in the promises between their lips.


	4. Chapter 4

"PepperohmygodSteve'sgoingtokillme!"

"Tony! Jesus, Tony, are you okay?" Pepper exclaimed. She was far too used to Tony's blurted freakouts instead of a 'Hello, Pepper, how are you today?', but last she had heard, he'd been kidnapped by some super soldier-obsessed thugs, "How did you-?"

"Escape, yeah, I didn't, the team rescued me and we just got home like fifteen minutes ago but that's not important, what's important is that I just got Steve back but now he's going to kill me and-"

"Back? As in his memory is back?" Pepper sat up straight.

"Yeah, he kissed me and his memory came back and it was all very romantic and whatnot but seriously, why is the phrase 'Steve is going to kill me' not registering concern here?"

"Because Steve is not going to kill you," Pepper rolled her eyes, "Especially if his memory is back. That man is impossibly, ridiculously in love with you. I'm more concerned about this kidnapping business, what happened to you? Do you need to go to a hospital?"

"Why do you never take me seriously? Is my life some kind of a joke to you?"

"Your life is not a joke to me, that's why I'm asking if you've been to a hospital yet-"

"Of course I haven't been to a hospital, those are for people who are diseased or have missing limbs or something-"

"You need to get checked out Tony-"

"I  _did_ get checked out, the SHIELD doctors wouldn't keep their paws off me for like half an hour, they kept me from Steve and everything. Besides, I'm fine, I'm not bleeding a lot or anything, and-"

"Not  _a lot?_ Tony, just because you're not missing a limb doesn't mean you don't belong in a hospital, there are hundreds of reasons beyond illness to go to an actual hospital not just emergency SHIELD care, and you-"

"Okay, okay, amnesia counts, but I don't have that either, and-"

"Stop interrupting, Tony, you certainly seemed fine staying at a hospital for weeks on end when Steve had it, and I'm sure he'd want you there now-"

"That is entirely different, staying in the hospital is an entirely necessary and unavoidable result when my fiancé loses all memory of me but look that's not the  _point_ right now, because far more important than this hospital jabber, Pepper, is the fact that  _Steve is going to kill me,_ so can we focus please? Cause I just got him back and he's already going to  _hate_ me again and he should because I'm an awful person, Christ, I think I'm going to be sick or something, is it possible to puke from guilt cause I'm pretty sure I'm about to puke from guilt-"

"Tony, calm down," Pepper sighed, playing along, "Why on earth do you think-?"

"I lost the ring," Tony interrupted with a miserable moan, and for once Pepper let his interjecting slide.

Because…wow.

Obviously Steve was not going to kill Tony over a lost ring; after all they had been through recently, she doubted Steve would even particularly care all that much, as long as they were together. But what left Pepper utterly speechless was the idea that Tony could have possibly lost the ring in the first place. That ring was the single most precious item he owned, without question. He had gone through hell and back, done everything from mountains of paperwork and to actual physical labor, to obtain even just that incredibly small strip of vibranium. He had spent weeks planning and designing and debating over everything from the style of the band to the font of the inscription. He'd welded and inscribed it himself, and spent another six months building up the courage to actually pop the question, as if there had ever been a doubt in Steve's mind. The idea that Tony could have  _lost_ it…

"Impossible," Pepper shook her head, still completely blown away.

"When Steve…" Tony swallowed, and Pepper heard his hesitation; Steve may have recovered his memory, but it seemed there were still some open wounds he was going to have to heal, "…gave it back, I know I put it back in the velvet box and put the box in the top left drawer of my dresser, I fucking  _know_ I did, because that's where it's been for six fucking months and why the fuck would I put it anywhere else, but now it's fucking  _gone,_ and I-"

"Tony!" Pepper recognized his increased swearing as a sign that Tony was rapidly becoming more and panicked, "Breathe. Everything is going to be okay."

"No it's  _not_ going to be okay, because I have absolutely  _no idea_ what I'm going to say to Steve because he's downstairs right now talking to the fucking doctor and I'm in our room and I've turned it absolutely upside fucking down and I can't find it  _anywhere_ and Jesus fucking Christ how am I supposed to tell him that he lost his memory for a little while and whoops I went and lost  _his fucking engagement ring?_ He's never going to trust me with anything ever again! God, what if he thinks I did it on purpose? What if he thinks I did it cause don't want to marry him anymore?"

"That cannot possibly be true-"

"Cause we haven't talked about it yet, we were kissing and that was fantastic and then Clint got all snippy about keeping it in our spandex and Coulson insisted that we both go to medical immediately, and I was shoved into medical alone with the doctors for the whole ride home  _and_  for a while at the Tower, then when I finally got out I only briefly passed Steve for like a second before he was hauled into medical, and they wouldn't even let me in. What if they wouldn't let me in cause he didn't want me in? What if he thinks I don't want to marry him anymore?"

"Tony, you said you kissed, I'm sure he knows-"

"Cause that's not at all true, that's nowhere  _near_ true! I want to marry him, Pepper, I do, I really do, I know I've never seemed like the stable, committed type, but he's just…everything I've ever wanted and he's only been mine a year and that's not  _enough,_ that's nowhere near enough, when I'm around him  _forever_  doesn't even feel like enough but I'll take what I can get because I want to marry him so badly it fucking  _hurts,_ and I've been wanting to for months and months and then he finally said yes and then he lost his memory and threw the ring back at me and ripped out my heart but I didn't give up and he came back to me and now it's all going to fall to pieces just because of one stupid mistake and-"

" _Tony!"_ Pepper shouted, demanding his attention at last, "Tony. Stop talking, and just breathe for a minute. Losing the ring is awful, but it's an accident, and it doesn't mean Steve won't marry you. Steve would marry you if you tied two pieces of grass together and put it on his finger, okay? He's not the kind of man that would marry you just because of a fancy ring. That's probably part of why you love in the first place, right?"

There was a momentary pause while Tony nodded, before realizing Pepper couldn't see him over the phone.

"Right. He always…he always made sure I knew that. We, uh, we fought about it once," Tony voice was quieter, thoughtful, "Bastard that I am, I accused him of just wanting the limelight, the glitz and glam and all the doors that open by dating a Stark. And in the middle of a goddamn fight, you know what he told me? I'm shouting at him, saying all he wants is fame and fortune, and he takes me by the shoulders and tells me that all he wants from me, all he's ever wanted from me, is love. I mean, who even  _says_ that? It was corny and cheesy and so fucking  _Steve,_  and…I loved it. I loved him, I still love him, and I just…I can't lose him again, Pepper, I really can't."

Tony fell painfully, unusually quiet at the end, his voice too soft, too fragile. Steve's memory may have returned, but the things he had said and done when it had been gone had left scars on Tony's heart that weren't so easily healed. Thankfully, Pepper had no doubts that Steve would go to the ends of the earth to do just that.

"Tony," she said softly, "Do you think Steve only said yes because of the ring?"

"Well…no."

"Then wouldn't he want to marry you, ring or no ring?"

"I don't…he…" Tony sighed, a rush of crackly static over the phone, "I guess he would."

"I know he would."

"...thanks, Pepper."

"Good luck, boss."

* * *

"Steve, I lost the ring."

Tony growled in frustration, shaking his head and starting over.

"No, no. Steve, I love you, I'll always love you, please don't take this as a reflection of our relationship or anything, but I kind of lost the rin-nope, fuck it."

Tony paced their room, drumming his fingers against the arc reactor in thought.

"Steve, fuck the ring, let's elope. Yeah. I like that one."

But Steve would hate it, of course, so that was out.

"Dearest Steven," Tony began, as if he was penning a letter, "Do not take my jumping off the building without the suit personally, turns out I just really didn't want to hear you say you didn't want to marry me. Again. Cause really, there's only so many times a guy as hopelessly, impossibly in love with you as I am can hear that."

Tony laughed, but it was without humor.

"Hey, Tony?" someone knocked on the door to the bedroom, then entered. It was Bruce, who gave him a smile as he informed him, "Medical's done with Steve. Thought you'd want to know. They want to talk to you about Steve's recovery."

"Yes. Yeah. Thank you," Tony nodded.

He followed Bruce out and down the stairs; he could deal with this later-not much later, granted, but later. When they reached the bottom of the steps the other Avengers were oddly absent, and Bruce directed him to his workshop. When Tony tried to question him, Bruce only gave a vague smile and waved him on. Tony shrugged, unlocking the door and entering, looking for Steve.

"This was the first place we kissed."

Tony found Steve leaning against the very workbench they'd kissed at, a weary, contemplative smile on his face.

"You remember."

"I do. I remember…" Steve's eyes fluttered closed, reveling in the wonderful feeling of  _knowing,_ their beautiful history playing back behind his eyelids, "Everything. I remember the look in your eyes a second before you leaned in, and the look when you pulled away, convinced as always I was going to turn you down. You gave me the same look when you asked me to dance for the first time, even though I'd been waiting for you to ask all night. It's the same look you gave me when you asked me to marry you."

"Steve, there's something I-"

"Shh, Tony, just…" Steve murmured with a sigh, "One minute. Just one minute, that's all I'm asking."

Tony nodded, and Steve spoke again.

"I know the fact that I forgot you hurt you, in more ways than I could possibly begin to understand at the time. I was unforgivably horrible to you. I returned your absolutely, unbelievably perfect ring, I shouted at you for doing nothing but helping me, and I made you feel unwanted when all I have _ever_  wanted, since the moment we met, is you."

"Steve, I...that's…god, I have to tell y-"

"I'm not finished," Steve plowed forward, a burning need to say his part driving him on, not letting Tony get anything else in, "In spite of all my failings, in spite of every awful thing I threw your way, you never lost an ounce of love for me. I could see it in your face, your eyes…you never once gave up on me. I broke your heart a hundred times over, and you loved me just the same. I am never going to forgive myself for that, for ever so much as letting go of your ring, much less giving it back to you, but if that means I get to spend the rest of my life making it up to you, I'll die a happy man."

"Steve…"

"Before all this, I didn't think it was even possible to love you any more than I did. That was naïve of me, because I know in my heart now that I'll grow to love you more every day, every moment, every second I spend by your side. Because I love you more than anything in this world or the next, Tony, and I hope you'll still allow me the honor of marrying you. You stayed by my side when I pushed you away in every way I knew how; now it's my turn to stay by yours, for as long as you'll have me."

Tony crossed the little space that was left between them in an instant, kissed him soundly. He took Steve's face in his hands, touching their foreheads together as he made himself very, very clear, steadfast conviction in his every word.

"Forever. I want you forever and always and if there is anything longer than forever, I want you then, too. I love you, Steve, and there is nothing, absolutely nothing, you could ever say or do that would make me love you any less."

In answer, Steve pulled his hand out from where it had been casually tucked behind his back to reveal a smooth, vibranium ring on his finger. Tony quite nearly had a heart attack, something that was only prevented by Steve gently pulling Tony into another kiss. When they parted, Steve smiled.

"Good, because I wasn't going to give this back again anyway."


End file.
